Off the Records
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, AU. One-shot. Carol doesn't want her daughter to go the wrong way in life and, luckily for her, Officer Dixon is on the same page.


**AN: This is a one-shot that came from an anonymous request on Tumblr. Don't take it too seriously, it's just for entertainment value.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol hashed out her argument at least fifteen times in the car, but it wasn't getting any better. She couldn't excuse Sophia's behavior. Sure, she could offer up a long and complicated sob story—one that might make any child therapist proud—about _why_ she thought Sophia probably did some of the things she did, but she couldn't _excuse_ her daughter's behavior.

Sophia was, if Carol had to guess, crying out for attention. Positive or negative, at the moment it didn't seem to matter much to Sophia. Carol was working two jobs now, the price she had to pay for the freedom she and her daughter now had from her ex-husband Ed, and it took her away from Sophia a good bit.

Carol knew that, deep down, Sophia understood why things were the way they were. She also knew that, one day, Sophia was going to grow up and actually regret a lot of the things that she was doing. But sixteen was a hard age –and Sophia's so-called friends weren't helping matters.

Carol only hoped she could get control of her daughter before it was too late and her regrets got too out of hand.

"I'm Carol McAlister," Carol said as soon as she got inside the small jailhouse. "I was called to pick up my daughter, Sophia."

The officer appeared to be the only one there. He gave Carol a quick look-over. He was probably judging her. Who wouldn't judge a mother who was there, still wearing her waitress uniform, to pick up her sixteen year old daughter from jail?

"Let's me and you talk a minute," the officer said. "Then I'll go get Sophia. Wouldn't hurt to let her think on things a minute no way."

Carol sighed but nodded her head. The officer, Dixon according to his badge, gestured down a little hallway and Carol followed him to what she assumed must be some kind of break room. He waved his hand toward a small and dirty looking couch, and Carol took the seat that was offered to her. When she sat, she threw up her hands to show how defeated she felt by the whole situation.

"You must be wondering what kind of mother I am," Carol said. "That my daughter would end up here."

The officer started to make himself a cup of coffee from the coffee maker that was plugged in on the counter.

"Gotta admit, I do always wonder," he said. "But—I don't make no snap judgments. We see all kinds come through here. Kids that don't got nothing. Kids that got everything. And—truth is—just about everything in between. See all kinds of parents, too. You're willing to talk to me instead of coming in the door yelling that it's all gotta be some mistake and your kid ain't done a thing wrong. That's a positive right there, as far as I'm concerned."

Carol laughed to herself, unable to find any other response inside of her besides tears. She was doing her best to keep those contained.

"I'd be willing to talk to anyone," Carol admitted, "if I thought they could help. I don't know what to do anymore. Sophia's not a bad girl. And—I think it's just a phase that she'll grow out of, but I'm worried that she'll do too much damage while she's in the phase to leave it behind entirely."

The officer stood in front of Carol holding the coffee cup for a moment before he extended his arm and offered it to her. Carol tried to refuse it, but he simply offered it to her again.

"Looks like you probably been serving coffee enough," he said. "Take a break and let me make you a cup."

At that, Carol finally accepted the mug and refused his offer of cream or sugar. He quickly returned to pour himself a cup of the hot liquid.

"I work at Lottie's. The diner on Main," Carol said. "Just some evenings and weekends. I also work at a law firm. I keep their books. Answer the phones. Make appointments. Whatever needs to be done. Maybe that's the problem. I work too much. Sophia doesn't get what she needs from me."

"What about her father?" The officer asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"How long have you been working here? Officer Dixon?" Carol asked.

"Daryl," the officer quickly corrected. "About six years now."

"Carol," Carol said. Daryl nodded at her. "If you've been here six years, Daryl, you've been working here just long enough that—you might've met her father before," Carol said. "My husband—my ex-husband—Ed Peletier came through here a couple of times. Domestic abuse."

She saw Daryl's expression change and Carol shook her head.

"Not Sophia," Carol said. "Never Sophia. I—saved her from that. As soon as I thought that...that's where he was headed? I got out. That's what it took to get me out. And that's why I work the two jobs. I feel like—for so much of Sophia's life—the only thing I could tell her was _no_. No had to be the answer to everything. It's the only way that I could keep as much peace as possible with my husband— _ex-husband_. I wanted to finally be able to tell her yes."

"And you're thinking maybe you said yes a few too many times?" Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged.

"I don't feel like I did," Carol said. "I mean—I didn't spoil her. I didn't think I did. But I must've gone wrong somewhere. If I didn't—she wouldn't be here."

Daryl hummed.

"Sometimes it's the parents' fault the kid is here," Daryl said. "But, sometimes, it's just as much the kid's fault. My brother and me had the same parents. Grew up in the same house. Lived the same life—give or take nine years of age difference. My brother spent a good bit of his life in correction centers. Juvy and then jail. He didn't never land in prison, but that's because he eventually got straight enough to realize that—it's where he was headed and he didn't wanna go there. Me? It took just one time getting brought in—sitting alone in that cell to think about the fact this could be my life if I didn't clean up my act. And you see where I'm sitting now. The right side of the bars, as far as I'm concerned."

Carol sat back in the couch and relaxed, for the first time, into her seat.

She liked how sincere Daryl was. She liked the fact that he was actually sitting there, for just a moment, talking to her instead of offering her advice. It was true that she _wanted_ advice. She wanted to know how to fix things with Sophia and how to get her daughter headed in the right direction, but she didn't want the advice that most people seemed to think they needed to give her.

Most people offered obvious advice. They acted like Carol hadn't had the sense to try to the typical things—like Sophia's room hadn't been so stripped of her personal items that she probably felt comfortable in the jail cell, surrounded by as many luxuries as she had at home, or like Sophia wasn't grounded most every weekend. They acted like Carol hadn't told her that she shouldn't hang out with the people that she was being friendly with and like Carol hadn't found her room, more than once, to be empty when Sophia should be sleeping. They acted like Carol hadn't put locks on Sophia's windows.

But Carol couldn't make her a true prisoner. To some degree, Sophia had to be out in the world. She had to experience it. She had to make decisions, good and bad, or else she'd never know how to live when she outgrew whatever this was.

Carol needed advice to get her through the _whatever this was_ —but she also couldn't _make_ Sophia talk about it. Not to her, and not to anyone else.

"So you're saying it was the same input, but you came out different," Carol said.

Daryl nodded his head.

"And your brother? He's—alright now?" Carol asked.

The officer laughed to himself. He shook his head half-heartedly and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know what alright is to you and what it is to me," Daryl said. "He's got a job and he's kept this one for a few years. Actually settled down. Got a woman that lives with him and—if he'd get his act together—she might even marry him. Got clean off the drugs, but he hasn't put the bottle down yet. Still—he's doing a lot better than he was six or seven years ago when he was looking at the possibility of heading to prison for the decisions he just kept making or dying before he even managed to make it there."

"So what do I do?" Carol asked. "What do I do to turn it around for Sophia, before it's too late?"

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't think there's a one-way answer," he said. "If there was, then we'd never pick up the same kid twice. But—you're working two jobs. Does _she_ have a job?"

Carol shook her head.

"I wanted her to get a job," Carol said. "I tried—cutting off her allowance and telling her that anything she wanted, anything that wasn't a necessity, was something she was going to have to buy with her own money, but she refused to get a job. Maybe that's—even why she's here."

"Shoplifting," Daryl said, "especially for something as small as what she picked up? It ain't about the money. It's about—the kick of it for them that gets a kick out of it. It's about shucking authority for the ones that get a kick out of that. But— sometimes it's just about showing off for them that's got someone they think it's gonna impress. Something small like that? She pocketed some makeup. Something small like that? It ain't about the money."

"Could it be about getting attention?" Carol asked. "Her mother's attention? Maybe—I'm working too much. Maybe I'm not there for her enough."

Daryl shrugged.

"Could be," he said. "But—would you say you're not there? _Really_ not there?"

Carol swallowed and shook her head.

"I don't feel like I'm there enough," Carol said. "She doesn't talk to me anymore. She talked to me when she was younger. She told me everything. Now—I can barely get her to tell me anything. So I guess—I feel like we're not as connected as we used to be."

"Didn't ask that," Daryl said. "Being there, in my experience? It ain't about being there. It ain't about hours. I've got kids coming through here whose parents don't work. Kids whose parents are home every hour of the day. And still they don't feel like their parents are _there_. My own mama—didn't hardly work a day in her life that I can remember. But—I wouldn't say she was ever there. Can't remember ever having a conversation with her about what I was thinking. Can't say she ever would've cared. The focus was on keeping quiet. Not talking. If you didn't talk about it? Couldn't really say it happened. I didn't ask if you were home. I asked if you were there."

"I try to get her to talk to me," Carol said. "I try to get her to—listen to me."

"Then she's already got a hell of a lot more on her side than a lot of kids I see that come through here," Daryl said.

"But it doesn't mean anything," Carol said.

Daryl drank his coffee like she wasn't there. Like they weren't having the conversation. He checked out on her for a moment and seemed to be entirely focused on studying the covers of back issued magazines that were on the coffee table.

"Means more than you think," Daryl said. "I didn't tell you this because—I wanted to talk to you first. See—here we all work in everything. Place is too small for you to just not go where you need to go. But—we all got our areas too. Places we prefer to work. Those are the cases we get the most. Me? I like working with the kids that come through. Shoplifting, car accidents, vandalism. Some are accidents, some aren't. But that's what I like. Like working with the kids. Seeing them—just when they're at the point where they're deciding. Could go one way or another."

"They're at a crossroads," Carol offered. Daryl nodded.

"I got called in special to get Sophia at the mall," Daryl said. "Picked her up alone—but I don't think she went in there alone. She was just the one that got caught. She didn't steal enough to really merit bringing her in, but we gotta do it. Didn't tell her that, though. Told her she was in serious trouble. Told her—that she was going to jail. Gonna call her parents to bail her out. Get 'em to pay the fines to take her home—see what would happen then."

Carol nodded along, letting him know that she was listening to him as he told her the story. All the while she was picturing Sophia—trying to be defiant but always looking, just a little, like the little girl that went wide eyed at the thought that she was in trouble for anything—listening to him from the back of the police car.

"Went all out," Daryl said. "Always do. Hand cuffs and—radioing in about the suspect being in custody. It's all for show. Sorts out the kids. The ones that are probably gonna go one direction act different than the ones that's headed in another."

"It scares them," Carol said. He nodded at her.

"Sophia cried," Daryl said. He shook his head. "Weren't the crying to get out of it, neither. Not the crying and begging to let her go. She cried when I told her we was gonna have to call you. Told me you were at work. I told her you'd have to leave for the night. Might get fired—never know with bosses. You were gonna have to come down. Pay the fines." He cleared his throat and made eye contact with Carol. He held her eyes for a moment. "Told her that, sometimes, in the case of a minor—we end up charging the parents. It's the parents that pay for the crime 'cause the kid's too young to do it. Just have to see how things went."

Carol swallowed and her stomach churned. She knew her daughter well enough to know that Sophia—for all that she acted like she didn't care because it was part of her new and very-much-not-improved persona—wasn't going to like that idea a good deal. Sophia had always been protective of Carol. Always. And, somewhere deep down, she was sure the girl still was.

"She got upset?" Carol asked.

Daryl nodded.

"Ain't even the word for it," Daryl said. "Almost lost my resolve myself. If I weren't trying to—push her in the right direction? I might've told her it was all just me putting on. I might've told her it was all OK."

"But you didn't?" Carol asked.

He shook his head.

"She's waiting on you," Daryl said. "I told her that—either you'd be here to get her or someone else would. Naturally, if we were to lock you up for what she did—you wouldn't be coming. Someone from the county would come. She's waiting to see—how bad what she done is."

"But you're not going to lock me up?" Carol asked, not entirely sure. Daryl was very convincing, without even trying to be, because he was so good at being sincere. He was steady and calm. He was collected. He probably could have played poker well because anything that might have served as a "tell" was something he did throughout his conversation—not at any specific moment—so it wouldn't indicate anything out of the ordinary.

Sophia must have been terrified.

Daryl laughed quietly to himself and shook his head.

"I'm not even really charging her," Daryl said. "I'm working off the books tonight. Some personal work. I saw what I needed to settle and it was forty dollars' worth of merchandise. Wasn't even worth that, in my opinion, because it weren't nothing special. Just some overpriced makeup. I already called and told 'em I'm settling it myself. Charging her _could_ have an effect on her future. And I don't think _this_ is where she's headed in the future. At least—not on the inside of the bars."

Carol sighed out with relief and then quickly apologized. Daryl waved away her apology.

"Thank you," Carol said.

"But—I'm telling her she got community service," Daryl said.

"Community service?" Carol asked.

He smirked at her.

"What she really got was a job," Daryl said. "We gotta have someone around here to do what you was saying you did at the law office. File some things. Answer some phones. Get some better organization around here. Sophia's got a job now. Gonna come in every afternoon after school—we'll pay her, of course, but it'll give her something to do."

"I don't know how to thank you for all of this," Carol said. "I really don't."

"You don't thank me," Daryl said. "Like you said, she ain't a bad kid. I don't want to see her turn into one. You just—keep doing what you're doing and see if we can't help out a little with the rest. Sophia don't wanna be a criminal."

"And I don't want her to be one," Carol said. "I love her. I just—want her to have a _good_ life."

"Then she's already got more on her side than a lot of kids who come through here got," Daryl said. "Come with me? We'll go deliver her sentence and you can take her home."

"At least let me pay you back," Carol said. "For the makeup she stole?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Already took care of," Daryl said.

"Please," Carol said, pulling her purse around from where it was still hanging limply on her shoulder. She opened it and Daryl reached forward, putting his hand over hers to stop her.

"Don't worry about it," he said.

"There's got to be something," Carol said. "Even—off the books or whatever."

Daryl shrugged at her.

"Fine," he said. "Sophia does alright and—you find that you got a little time between jobs? Something that don't put you out? You can pay me back with dinner. Haven't had a hot meal in a while that didn't come out that microwave over there."

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

"You mean like a date?" Carol asked.

"I said dinner," Daryl said. "And you don't gotta do that. It's squared away, one way or another."

Carol swallowed. Her heart had picked up its pace a little.

She didn't know why, but she _wanted_ to have dinner with Daryl. She really did. And she didn't want to say anything that might make him retract the offer—no matter if it was just dinner.

Carol nodded her head.

"Dinner," she said. "I could do that. I'd like that." She nodded at him again and offered him the best smile that she could over all the emotion that was coursing through her body. "A date," she added tentatively. "Off the records, of course."

Daryl smiled then, but quickly covered it over.

"Off the records," he repeated. "I'd like that. Come on—let's go get Sophia. I think—we'll find the prisoner is pretty well reformed."

Carol hummed.

"Or at least she's on her way," Carol said. "And I'll take that, gladly."


End file.
